


Romances of the Underground's Finest

by ASimpleArchivist



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (It's literally all from memory alone), Adoption Center AU, And skinny as a green bean, Bakery AU, But Reader is there to bake quiches with him, But he's very loving all the same, But kinda gross at the same time, But they'll show up eventually, Cuddling, Dadster, Don't worry, F/M, Female Reader, Gaster is Sans and Paps' dad, Gaster is a Skeleton, Gaster is a neeeerd, Hand Jokes/Puns, Horrid explanations for how thunder/lightning works, I don't think mentions of them should demand them being added to the list, I know other people have different headcanons on what kind of monster he is, I suck at titles, I'll give links to the posts I find, I'm a smol, I'm using a lot of headcanons and prompts and stuff from tumblr so, Implied sentient Gaster Blasters, Just a note: I won't actually add characters until they have an actual interaction with the reader, Just for clarification, Mild language I guess?, Nicknames, Not kidding this fella is seven feet tall, Oh look here we are again, Pap is a sweetheart, Papyrus finally makes a real appearance! Yay!, Pet Center AU, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is overworked but somehow manages to function, Reader-Insert, Readers' personalities will vary with different one-shots, Sans Cries, Sans thinks Reader's bodily functions are fascinating, Self-Insert, Short people troubles, Short!Reader, Strangers talking through the wall, Thanksgiving Dinner, This chap is very self-indulgent on my part, Thunderstorms, Tol/Tall!Gaster, Ugh I might change the story title later, Why?, YAY GOOPDAD IS HERE, Your dad is a photogenic dork, also, dunno, fluff and comfort, grocery store au, i'll add tags as i go, reader is female, smol!reader, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASimpleArchivist/pseuds/ASimpleArchivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very self-indulgent collection of reader-centric one-shots that involve all the boys of Undertale. It'll mostly be the skelefam though. Probably.<br/>(Feel free to drop requests in the comments, but you might not see them right away - I'm kind of slow when it comes to these sort of things. [No smut though - I don't write that stuff, sorry.])<br/>Will update pretty frequently (I hope). Maybe more like the pace of motivation hitting me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ We'll see.<br/>Happy reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Bakery AU) Stop Smelling the Roses and Come In Already (Sans/Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> ((I converted this from first-person point of view, so if you see any errors [or just any old errors, for that matter] please tell me.))  
> ‘Every morning you walk in and inhale deeply then walk back out seriously just buy something already’ AU  
> (Source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/AVkhKWH3o2F5oYKjx0XBCS_Ptprj_6T4-4nLc_-jPpuan4P93Zbsz10/ )

It had started as maybe just a coincidence - turning in to the wrong door, or changing one’s mind at the last second - but maybe he was doing it to get on your damned nerves.

The bakery was small, cozy - a place anyone could come and enjoy something sweet and relax, or pull an almost all-nighter trying to study for that final that oh crap it’s tomorrow - it was painted in soft shades of gold and warm reds, accented with dark cherry wood furniture and flooring, the windows were big and let in a bunch of natural light, and it smelled excellent at all times of the day.

But maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

It had been an early Monday morning - a very early Monday morning - and you’d just managed to prop yourself up on the wall beside the checkout corner, trying not to fall asleep and barely able to get enough juice in your brain to mumble out an almost incoherent, “Morning, good…” as the door opened with a chime.

But, you’d noticed nobody was coming up to the counter.

Oh. Well, maybe it had to do with the fact that your eyes were closed.

Cracking your eyelids open and squinting against the blurriness that followed, you scrubbed at them and blinked.

Nobody was there.

The door was closed, nobody was standing in front of the glass display case to see what Alice and the other two bakers had to offer that morning, and it seemed that you were quite alone in the room.

So why had the bell chimed?

Well, it had woken you up a bit more, so you gave up and moved over to the coffee machine settled on the counter just inside the kitchen and poured yourself a cup.

If you were going to stay sane for at least half the day, you were going to need a caffeine fix.

But, as it turned out, it wasn’t just the one time mistake.

Oh, no, god forbid that it only happen once and only get on your nerves a little bit.

 

The next day you’d managed to at least be a little more prepared for the early morning shift, the street still dim as the beginnings of sunlight turned the concrete a pale lilac and the streetlights flickering off.

You’d managed to stop by a nearby coffee shop with time to spare, and now stood poised behind the counter and only occasionally reminding yourself that smooshing one’s face against the cash register for a quick nap wasn’t exactly the most attractive thing in the world.

But only as you raised your head, you saw a shadow pass the window, stopping at the door. You watched halfheartedly, almost hoping that whatever person was loitering outside would just come in already and give you a reason to stay awake - but the door only creaked open and you just saw a glimpse of something pale white pause just within the doorway and inhale with a deep, drawn out “ssssniiiiiff” before promptly shutting the door again and disappearing past the windows.

Well. That had certainly been unexpected.

And now you were just about as confused as hell.

You squinted, trying to decipher what you’d just seen, but only wound up shielding the counter from a sneeze with your clothed elbow. You thought that maybe you were starting to get a cold, but you’d literally just started this job a week ago and you knew you probably wouldn’t be able to take sick leave yet without consequences.

So, ignoring the tingling in your sinuses and scrubbing at your eyes just as the door opened again and a legitimate person walked through the door, you pushed the incident to the back of your mind for later, for when you would ease back in a bathtub full of water probably just a tad too hot and forget everything about the outside world for maybe just five freaking minutes.

After all, it wouldn’t happen again, would it? It was too weird of a happening for it to happen maybe twice.

 

Again, you were wrong.

Which is really not at all surprising, given that nine times out of ten you’ll be wrong, but. That’s not the point.

Wednesday morning was going fine, a few of the regulars had already circulated through and there were a couple of college kids in the far corner giggling over a laptop, sopping up all the free Wi-Fi that Jasmine thought would be a good idea to have and what looked like a draftsman muttering over the papers he had strewn out over the two-person table on the east side of the room.

Alice, who you’d presumed was busy with restocking the cinnamon rolls, looked up just as you handed a paper bag with a massive blueberry muffin to a man who smiled and went to sit near the small fireplace on the west wall.

“Ooh, look! That’s skeleton’s coming up again.”

At first you’d thought you’d misheard her. “Skeleton?”

“Yeah!” She looked up at you, raising a thin, blonde brow. “You’ve seen him before - I don’t know his name, though.”

“A skeleton?”

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes, brushing her hands on her apron and moving over to the other side of the display case to restock the cranberry muffins. “You haven’t noticed that he is?”

You guessed that you hadn’t. I mean, he’d looked a bit pale, but all you’d seen was maybe a jawline. How were you supposed to know that he was a-

Just then, the door opened just a fraction, and then you saw it - the glimpse of a cheekbone, literal bone, and maybe a bit of teeth, and you heard that deep inhale before the door shut again and the shadow moved away.

“What the hell?” you asked, directed at no one in particular.

“Can’t blame him,” Alive remarked, shrugging lightly. “It always smells great in here. Though…can he even smell? I mean, he probably doesn’t even have to breathe…but can he…?”

“Alice, I’m not worried if he can breathe or smell or not,” you said, folding your arms and giving the front door a hard stare, as though he’d appear there again any moment. “This is the third time he’s done it this week, and I just want to know why he’s not coming in.”

“Maybe he’s shy?” she guessed, shoving half of a muffin in her mouth when she thought you weren’t looking.

“Or maybe he’s a loon?” you sighed, rubbed at your eyes and gave her an exasperated look. “Do you think he’s bipolar? Wants to come in, then changes his mind the last second?”

“Who knows?” Alice stood, began pushing the cart back into the kitchen. “But I think you should try to catch him. Getting a little more service wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

And you must’ve had too much wax in your ears, because you could’ve sworn you heard her mutter, “And besides - you’d probably take a liking to him.”

 

Maybe this was a bad idea.

But, to be honest, you weren’t thinking this through. But you had a perfectly good reason, of course: you were going to get that damn skeleton to actually step inside the damn store even if it would be the last thing you’d do.

Alice cocked a brow, crossed her arms, and tilted her hip.

“And why do you want me to this?”

You gave her a frustrated sound, furrowing your brow. “Do I need a reason? Maybe I just want to get a breath of fresh air.”

The look that she gave you did not indicate that she believed a sound that’d left your mouth. “Riiight.”

You pursed your lips, staring her down and hoping she’d give in.

She did not.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you raised your eyes to the wooden ceiling and hoped she wouldn’t see the twitch of your brows. “I’m going to try to see that skeleton.”

The utter shit-eating grin that accompanied your admittance made you flush despite yourself and you scowled at her. “I’m not - it’s not - just…just take over the register for two seconds.”

“Of course.” She patted you lightly on the arm. You hated that stupid grin. “Have fun.”

You muttered a curse under your breath as you turned to the door and stepped outside. The morning was crisp and you thanked your past self for bringing one of your heavier coats with you. You tugged the collar up around your cheeks and eyed the dim streets. Nobody yet. But you were out there about five minutes before the skeleton showed up, so you had plenty of time to watch him.

Settling against the brick wall behind you, you watched your breath turn into a white cloud of vapor before dissipating with the gentle breeze. You had patience. Really, you did. It was just selective. And you were going to get that skeleton to go into the shop at least this once.

“What’re you doing out here in the cold, bud?”

You jumped, squeaking as you turned sharply. Why the hell was somebody hiding in the alleyway beside the shop?

Then you realized. It’s him.

He was actually a little shorter than you, a soft blue jacket with white fur lining the hood and a white turtleneck sweater beneath swathed around his upper body. And were those - yeah, those were sports shorts. And - what the hell? Pink house slippers?

“Um.” The obvious white of his tibias and fibulas was hard to look away from. But when you looked up, you decided that yep, he’s a skeleton.

His skull was smooth, his cheekbones a dusty blue, probably from the cold. But could he even feel the cold? Wait, no, that wasn’t the point. The glowing pinpricks of light in his dark sockets stared up at you expectantly, his seemingly permanent smile amused.

“Um. Well, I, uh…” Shit, you weren’t expecting this. He was…shit, he was actually kind of cute. And you certainly weren’t expecting the deep voice. “Would. Would you like to. Um. Come in?”

The bone above his eye shifted and - wait, was he raising his nonexistent brow at you? “’Scuse me?”

Oh, shit. What if this wasn’t the same guy? Shit - were you being really racist for assuming - how many skeletons were there?

You felt heat crawl up your neck and spread over your face. “I - uh, well, I thought I’d seen you hang out outside here for a while, but it must’ve been someone else.” You shrunk into your coat, trying to hide your embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’ll just-”

“Hold up, kiddo.”

You froze, playing with the lint in your coat pockets. You risked a glance back at him and - was he laughing?

The lights in his eyes seemed to glint with amusement as he shrugged his broad shoulders. “I figured someone would catch me eventually.”

So it was him.

The embarrassment began to fade and you shivered in the confines of your woolen jacket. “If you don’t mind me asking,” you said slowly, watching as he tilts his head in attentiveness. “Why do you only ever, um, smell the doorway? You could buy some of our stuff, you know.”

He shrugged again, glancing towards the other side of the street. “I always oversleep. I only ever have time to smell the doorway.”

“Oversleep?” you asked. “As in, for a job?”

“Yep.” He smiled a little wider. “I work for the Royal Scientist. We’re doing Soul research.”

“Soul research?”

He shifted his weight, seeming like he was about to explain, but a soft ping went off from his pocket. He sighed and gave you an apologetic smile. “Another time, maybe,” he said. “Alphys’ll have my head if she catches me late again.”

And with that, he was gone. Literally. He disappeared. From freaking thin air.

“What. The hell.”

Well. At least you had some idea of what he was like. Seemed he liked sleep just as much as you did.

With a sigh, you went to enter the shop again, only to be greeted by Alice’s expectant smirk.

Yep. That skeleton was going to be problematic.


	2. (Grocery Store AU) “Whoops - well, uh…nice hand you got there?” (Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘I work in a grocery store and I'm putting new items on the shelf in the refrigerated section and just as I'm putting a new carton of milk on the shelf, you reach in and our hands touch’ au  
> (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/406449935101849185/)

Grumbling softly under your breath, you tug the zipper of your coat once more under your chin as you shiver, crouched down in front of the racks of varying cold drinks and trying to rub some feeling back into your hands. You wished you’d remembered to bring your gloves, but you hadn’t, and now you were paying the price for it.

You let out a sigh and stood, rolling your aching wrists and grabbing another gallon jug of orange juice and setting it in its designated rack before pushing it towards the door on the outside. You’d gotten stuck with cold foods duty that day, given it was your turn - the small, twenty-four hour corner-store market was small enough to have a rotating duty board between its small employee branch. There were usually only two or three of you working in a shift. John was handling all the dry goods, the lucky bastard. He always griped about being behind the register, dealing with the frankly pissy clientele of Ebott City’s downtown residential area, and he was probably humming his stupid “top forty” songs and grinning like the smug son of a gun he was.

Okay, maybe he was actually a really sweet guy and would never be so arrogant, but you were literally running on maybe four hours of sleep and three cups of putrid black coffee and you were not happy that you got called in on your supposed day off to fill in for Janet’s (too) early morning shift, who’d turned up with a severe case of tonsillitis.

Maybe you’d catch it and get a week off like she was.

You groaned under your breath and rubbed at your eyes, willing the heaviness away from your eyelids. You could make it another two hours, couldn’t you? You’d been here since two a.m.; you could get to eight just fine.

You eased yourself to your feet and pushed the cart to the end of the cold-storage room, where all the dairy products were, catching the sound of a ringtone as somebody opened the door further down, where you’d been moments before. A deep, masculine voice answered, but it soon got muffled as the door shut again.

You glanced at your watch with a quirked brow. Usually people didn’t start coming in until seven or seven thirty. It was six fourteen.

That only served to remind you of your sleep-deprived predicament and you sighed agitatedly, gripping a couple of gallons of milk and beginning to load them up on the racks. You wished you could be at home, tucked under your soft, warm sheets and watching Netflix while eating a questionably sized bowl of cereal…

So involved in your own thoughts, you failed to notice the door before you opening and a large hand reaching towards the milk you were now pushing in-

You let out a startled noise when your fingertips brushed against something smooth and warm, your hand jerking back on its own volition and consequently smacking into the metal siding with a sharp sting.

“Ah, shit!” you growled, cradling your throbbing fingers as you hissed between your teeth.

“Uh, sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to bite the hand that feeds.”

Your brows scrunch up and you peer beneath the shelf above the gallon milk jugs. Two dark sockets stare back, white pupils flicking over your partially visible face. It’s the same deep voice from earlier. A monster?

“Umm…?” You blink uncertainly, rubbing at your knuckles. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“S’all right, kiddo.” He shrugged a broad shoulder, flicking his palm upward. “Didn’t figure there was a milk monster behind the shelf.”

Despite yourself, you let out a choked snort, pressing your palm to your mouth to stifle it. His pupils brighten a little and you catch a glimpse of his wide smile. He looked to be a skeleton monster.

“Uh, well…” You clear your throat, tilting your head downward so maybe he wouldn’t see your toothy grin. “I’ve got to give you a hand, you’re pretty pointed with jokes, aren’t you?”

His sockets widened in evident surprise before he let out a mirthful laugh. The rolling timbre of his voice was actually…pretty nice.

“I guess our jokes go hand in hand,” he remarked, rubbing the side of his face. “Though I’m sure I could give you a few pointers.”

You snorted again and didn’t try hiding your laugh this time, cradling your head in your hands. “You’re something else, fella. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone this chipper this early.”

“Early?” He tilted his head a bit, confusion twisting his expression. Wow, okay. Apparently skeleton monsters didn’t have any applied rule to their skulls’ malleability. “What time is it?”

You blink and lift your head, glancing at your watch. “Uhh…six twenty-one?”

He blinks, his pupils dimming as he scratched at his chin. “Oh. I…” He laughed anxiously, putting on a much faker smile. “I guess time doesn’t really fly when you can’t sleep, heh…”

“I feel you, buddy,” you say, letting out a sigh. “I never realized it was possible for the human body to function on such little sleep, but hey - scientific discovery, right?”

He chuckles, rubbing at his face and shaking his head. “Yeah…well, it was nice to meet you, human.” He flips his wrist in a lazy wave. “Might see you around, since you work here.”

“Yeah. See you,” you say, as he grabs a gallon of two percent and puts it in his cart before you spot him walking away. Was he…was he wearing pink house shoes?

With a quiet laugh at the peculiarity of the past five minutes, you shake your head and return to your task of restocking the racks.

What an odd character, you thought. But he had his charm, in his own unique little way.


	3. (Non-AU) “Monster Baby?” (Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This lovely request was from SilverLyra407. Thanks for stopping by! I enjoyed writing this a lot, and I hope I did it justice! XD))  
> "I have an odd request. My father's nickname for me from when I was young was Monster Baby. Everyone in my family called me that. So... I was actually curious if you could write a fic of Sans and the reader, where Sans and the others find out about this child hood nickname and what their reactions would be? Like a family member calls the reader the nickname in front of them or they find an old card with the nickname on it? The nickname came from me being a mischievous and silly child, so it wasn't anything negative. Thank you!"

In hindsight, maybe inviting your father to Thanksgiving dinner with your frankly extravagant monster family hadn’t been such a great idea. But Sans had expressed his desire to meet him, and who were you to deny him that? Besides, at the time it had seemed like a good idea.

You regretted even visiting the thought in the first place.

“And this was her first Halloween costume - she’d been quite taken with Care Bears at the time.”

There was a collective “d’aaawwww…” from your friends and you sank even deeper into the plush leather loveseat across from the gigantic couch on which your entire family was crowded and practically sitting on top of one another. You were pretty sure you were breaking the Guinness World Record for deepest shade blushed.

Your father, in his excitement to meet your adopted monster family in Ebott City, had brought photo albums of your childhood and had absolutely jumped on the idea of showing you off to Toriel and Asgore after they’d mentioned the thick, worn books sitting on top of one of his many suitcases. And it had just been the two goat monsters, at first. But then Frisk had decided they were curious, and whenever Frisk became curious about something, you may as well forget about keeping anything private. And of course, of course Papyrus had gotten curious, too, because why not?

And, needless to say, the rest of your odd little group had gathered around your father in intense demand to see every single embarrassing photo that was causing havoc on your blood pressure.

“Isn’t that precious?” Toriel cooed as your father pointed out the “first day of school” picture to her. Asgore chuckled deeply, eyes glowing in mirth.

You could handle those two seeing those photos. You could even handle Undyne and Alphys and Papyrus and Frisk and even Mettaton seeing those stupid, ridiculous photos, but…the utter shit-eating grin that had grown (and was continuing to grow) on Sans’ face would be the source of your embarrassment for years to come.

“Dad,” you groaned aggressively, rubbing at your temples and glaring at him from across the coffee table. He only smiled innocently back, the dimples in his cheeks and the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes catching shadows from the fireplace on the east wall.

When had he gotten so wrinkly?

“Yes, sweetpea?”

“Dad, I told you not to bring those,” you hissed through clenched teeth. “Why did you?”

He shrugged lightly, laughing heartily as he flipped the page and the monsters around him collectively cooed and crowed at the new material. “They love you just about as much as I do, Monster Baby.”

“Oh, my god, Dad-”

“’Monster Baby’?” Sans asked, his pupils absolutely sparkling with glee and the potential for blackmail material.

You buried your face in your hands and let out a long, high pitched whine as your father explained, “When she was around five or six, she would hide under furniture or blankets or behind doors and such and proceed to scare the ever-loving daylights out of me, the mischievous little bugger - sometimes she would even sneak whoopee cushions underneath the couch cushions or beneath my pillow; I started calling her Monster Baby because of it.”

“Aawww, babe,” Sans cooed, and you saw his absolute shitty grin between your fingers; “I didn’t know you had a prankster’s streak in you. You should’ve told me.”

“Go suck a lemon,” you bit out, curling up behind your knees.

“Language, sweetpea,” your father scolded.

“If it’s any consolation,” Asgore rumbled, “I think you look absolutely fetching in yellow and purple plaid.”

“Oh my god-” You cast an accusing look towards you father. “I thought you got rid of that picture.”

He smiled. “I made copies.”

You groaned again, standing and stalking towards the kitchen. “Dad, you’re a jerk.”

“Hardly. I simply deemed it necessary that I provide ample material to keep you humble.”

“I trusted you!”

“Maybe you’ll be more careful the next time you decide to tell the lawnmower story!”

The monsters snorted at the small mention and your father gave them a look.

“Well, in that case,” you called out, an audible smirk in your voice, “I guess you don’t want the last slice of cherry pie…”

The album abruptly snapped closed and your father set it firmly on the coffee table. “Okay, fan club is over. I’m getting that pie.”

The others chuckled and went about their ways, mostly going to watch Frisk play against Papyrus and Undyne on Smash Bros, but Sans glanced to and fro before reaching out to lift the book cover. He just managed to get the edge between his fingertips when there was a sharp, hallow smack to the back of his skull. He yelped and whirled, rubbing at the smarting bone as you glared down at him.

“No more baby pictures for you,” you said firmly. “I’ll be taking that.”

“Aw, wait, come on, babe!” he said, following after you as you headed towards your father’s guest room and tugging at the hem of your sweater. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!”

You stopped so abruptly that he almost collided with your back. You gave him a narrow stare over your shoulder. “…You’re lying.”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, no, I promise! C’mon, babe, please?”

You decided to test the waters, turning towards him just a bit. “You’ve already seen mine.”

“Not all of it!” he whined. “We only got to your second birthday!”

You paused for a good, long moment. “And you have your baby pictures.”

“They’re at home, but yeah. I do.” He tugged at your shirt again, his pupils shimmering in his equivalent of puppy dog eyes. “Pleeeaase?”

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes and staring at him to see if he would break. He didn’t, only hunching his shoulders and enlarging his pupils to sparkle even brighter in the dim light of the hallway. If he had lips you were pretty sure he’d be pouting.

“Fine.”

He honest to god almost squealed, reaching around you and snatching the old album from your hands. “Thanks, Monster Baby! You’re amazing!”

You barked out a sharp, “don’t call me that!”, but he was already gone from thin air.

“Damn his teleportation,” you grumbled, trudging towards the bathroom to freshen up. “I’ll probably never get that back.”

 

Later that night, after everyone had eaten the mighty feast and had begun to trickle out of the skeleton brothers’ home, it was unusually quiet and dark. The only sources of light in the living room were the television still flashing brightly with the title screen of one of Frisk’s games and the fireplace, which had already begun to smolder into glowing embers. Papyrus and Frisk were asleep on the couch, the younger skeleton’s snoring surprisingly not waking the young child tucked onto his chest and wrapped securely in his scarf. 

The kitchen was still illuminated, however, the scent of coffee clinging heavily to the air. Sans and your father sat in companionable silence, sipping at their respective mugs and simply enjoying the mantle of noiselessness that had fallen over the house. Sans appreciated his odd little family, he did, but it was nice when everybody went home and he was left to his own little squad of two. You had long gone to bed, pressing kisses to their temples before trudging off to your room. 

“So…” Your father gazed into his mug a moment before setting it down on the table. “About your relationship with my daughter…”

Ah. Sans had expected this. It was a human thing, he knew. Human parents were generally very protective of their children, and he could respect that. He felt that oftentimes with Papyrus. And besides, you had warned him about your father tending to be a bit…shall we say, aggressive when it came to you courting someone.

But Sans wasn’t quite a ‘someone’. Sans was a monster. And he honestly had no idea of what your father’s opinion of him was.

“I approve. Wholeheartedly.”

Sans looked up to him in surprise, eye sockets wide and pupils shrunken. “You…you do?”

Your father gave him a warm look, not quite friendly but not really fatherly, either. A happy mix of the two, perhaps. “I could go on about how I’ve watched you, how her eyes light up whenever you walk into the room, how you treat her as though she’s your queen, et cetera…but I won’t. That’s terribly stereotypical.”

His eyes gleamed in the kitchen’s light and Sans was stricken with the realization that you had your father’s eyes. “You love her. She loves you. That much is obvious. Who am I to deny that to either of you?”

Sans sat and stared at the human male, the father of the love of his life, and suddenly felt as though a colossal weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I…”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Your father wagged a finger at him and stood, pouring the coffee down the drain and rinsing it out before stretching. “Just take care of my daughter and we’ll be on good terms. Capiche?”

“Yes, sir,” Sans said, and your father patted him lightly on the shoulder as he went by.

“Good night, Sans,” he said, before exiting the kitchen.

“’Night.”

Sans breathed in slowly, holding it just a moment before releasing it and smiling to himself. Your father didn’t hate his nonexistent guts. Thank the stars.

Sans tended to the mugs, flipped off the light, and padded into the living room, tucking a blanket over his brother and Frisk’s still sleeping forms with an affectionate grin before switching the television off. He trod silently down the hall, taking care not to jostle the doorknob as he opened the door. 

You were still asleep, curled up beneath the sheets and facing away from him. He closed the door behind him, picking up his pajama pants from the dresser and changing before carefully crawling into bed next to you.

You stirred a bit as he settled in behind you but you didn’t wake, and he pressed his nose into your scalp to breathe in the faint scent of butterscotch and cinnamon that still lingered from Toriel’s pie. He wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him before breathing out softly and closing his eyes.

“’Night, Monster Baby,” he whispered softly.


	4. (Non-AU) “Guess You’re Not in an Amped Mood, huh?” (Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of short and sweet. Post ending and reader lives with the skelebros and is in a relationship with Sans. Also, I don't claim my thunder/lightning/(thunderstorms in general) information to be correct - all of it was just off the top of my head ("For realism's sake," I told myself.) and from memory. I was always excellent at Science in school, so I hope I at least got it marginally correct.  
> It’s been raining a lot recently and it’s so, so humid - I can’t stand it. Didn’t really have a prompt for this one so much as this lovely piece of fanart:  
> (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/AVvfxVuQJsSaSDqQQkpvCBeUiHkBr2U-xIUS7YwADRXNTvMmJg96oPc/)  
> (I will expand on different characters soon, I promise - just be patient. I’m thinking up one for the Goopdad himself rn.)

You were ripped from a deep, comfortable and restful slumber as an inhuman screech rang through the apartment, immediately waking you and setting you on edge. You shot out of bed, clawing open your door and rushing into the hallway as thunder roared through the walls and rattled the picture frames. Papyrus’ door was open and the room was vacant, and you turned into Sans’ doorway.

Papyrus was whining, the entirety of his body wrapped tightly around his brother. You could scarcely see the smaller skeleton through the clothed limbs constricting him - only the sliver of a tired eye socket, clearly unamused.

“’S just rain, Pap,” you heard him grumble, his voice scratchy from sleep. “Y’ve been in a rainstorm b’fore.”

“What are the flashing lights, brother?” Papyrus wailed, his face disappearing into his brother’s neck. “There were never menacing lights and cries of war in the Underground!”

You heard Sans sigh and you step over to the bed, crawling over to both skeletons. You attempted to gently pry Papyrus’ arm from blocking Sans’ face but to no avail.

“Papyrus,” you said softly, patting his back soothingly, “this is completely normal for thunderstorms. They happen all the time.”

“But why is it so loud?” he whimpered, constricting his brother even tighter. Sans let out a muffled, pitched squeak from the pressure.

You chuckled and petted his skull. “Do you know specifically why it happens?”

He pulled away just a bit, enough to look at you from the corner of his wet eye socket. “N…no, I don’t believe so.”

“Well, I’m not a meteorologist,” you began, settling into a comfortable sitting position, “but I’ll try to remember what I learned in school. Hmm…there are protons and neutrons in the air, and when clouds are formed the protons get charged up due to the friction of all the water molecules rubbing against each other. When the charge becomes powerful enough, it becomes attracted to the neutrons, which have a negative charge and are nearer the ground, and there’s a split-second reaction where it all snaps into equal charge and whatever attraction point is on the ground - usually something metal, because it’s a conductor, or a tree; anything that’s pretty high up over the ground. That’s what creates the lightning flash.”

Papyrus had relaxed during your explanation, lessening his grip on Sans and paying more attention to you. “So what causes the…the thunder?” he asked, wiping at his eye sockets with his shirt sleeve.

“That’s the sound that’s made when they snap together,” you told him. “But since light travels faster than sound, you usually see the lightning before hearing the thunder. You can actually estimate how far away a lightning strike is if you count how many seconds pass between the flash and the sound.”

As though the heavens had heard your words, white flashed in Sans’ window, casting a split-second of dark shadows across the walls.

“Quick, count as best you can,” you encouraged, and the bone between Papyrus’ eyes furrowed in concentration. Shortly thereafter, the thunder followed with an echoed bang, causing Sans’ various belongings to tremble wherever they stood.

“Five seconds!” Papyrus stated proudly, puffing his chest a little.

You nodded with a warm smile. “Good, good. That means it was probably about five miles away.”

“Five…miles?” he echoed, wonder seeping into his voice. “But it seemed so close. That’s very far away…”

“Yeah, see? There’s nothing to worry about,” you assured him, rubbing his shoulder. “Besides, buildings always have lightning rods to absorb any electricity, should the building even be struck, which is already unlikely. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Papyrus yawned, seemingly reassured, and you tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, Pap. I’ll snuggle with you.”

“I would…” He yawned again, his weariness obviously creeping back upon him after the short burst of adrenaline. “I would appreciate that very much, human.”

You smiled as he reclined back on Sans’ bed and began to shift under the sheets. You looked to Sans, who was gazing at you warmly. 

“What about you, lazybones?” you smirked. “Need some good old TLC?”

He chuckled softly, pulling you down with him on the mattress. “You never know when lightning might strike twice and I get constricted by a wild Papyrus.”

The larger skeleton let out an indignant, strangled groan. “Sans!”

Shifting to make yourself comfortable between both skeletons, you let out a giggle. “Well, you know how electrifying Sans’ puns can be, sometimes.”

“Oh, please, not you, too, human…”

“Aw, come on, bro - I’m shocked you don’t like these.”

“Sans…”

“Watt? I think he’s pretty clever.”

“Uurgh! I’m going to sleep!”

“Well, now at least I know how you currently feel.”

“It hertz that you’re being so amped about sleeping, Papy. Don’t you want to hang out with your amp-azing friends?”

“Snrk…you can’t use the same pun twice, human.”

“But I got a laugh out of you - I consider it a win! What do you think, Sans?”

“Any outlet for electricity puns to get Pap to laugh is amp-azing to me.”

“Sans, please…”

“Heh…g’night, bro.”

“Good night, Sans. You, too, human.”

“Night, Papy. Sweet dreams.” You kissed both boys in turn, lingering on Sans’ cheek and smiling sleepily at him. “Night, Sans.”

“Night, babe.”

Lightning flashed outside the window, but there were no screeches of fear. Instead, there were soon snores of restful and content sleep.


	5. (Adoption Center AU) “You’re…You’re Naming Her…Mufferaw…?” (Gaster/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Finally a character besides Sans! (I still have plenty of him tho, so…*sweats*) And woooow, this turned out to be a loooot longer than I had projected it to be. No wonder it took so long haha  
> Just a couple of notes: I headcanon Gaster as Sans and Paps’ dad, so if you don’t I apologize. Also, the skelebros are de-aged here: Sans is nine or ten and Pap is four or five. (Adorable little muns…) I love Gaster so much, so having an insert starring him was inevitable. Expect more of him soon.  
> (Uugh, I’m so bad with endings…)  
> Also, yes! Gaster Blasters are implied to be intelligent, here! Let's see if you can catch when...*wink*
> 
> "Imagine Person A works at a pet store and Person B shows up out of the blue with 2 kids in tow. Person A didn't know Person B had kids (or adopted kids), but helps them pick out a pet anyway. Person B ends up thinking Person A is adorable with the kids and it makes Person B like them even more."  
> (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/AQDD92UCGqGsYz__dwn1HLISSjZSwQ6_M1rwH4kNCJxjd-flWvAhQ4E/)

The early morning hours of working at the local adoption center nearer Ebott City’s downtown had long passed, closing time crawling slowly closer. There had been a few people in and out - it was early May, and school was wrapping up, so kids were getting geared up for summer vacation and parents oftentimes would give them a new friend for the summer (learning responsibilities, rewards for good grades - you’d pretty much heard most reasons by now).

Your coffee cup was practically untouched, however, because you had spent the past seven hours trying to hold down the fort by yourself - feeding and watering all the animals, washing some and playing with others, setting them up in the visiting rooms, attending to the few people who showed up - the list went on, and you’d barely had the chance to sit down all day. Your lunch was still in the breakroom’s refrigerator, but you would soon remedy that.

Pulling your coffee mug out of the microwave and plucking the paper sack out of the fridge you sank into a chair and pulled your sandwich out, salivating as your stomach growled in anticipation. You’d barely managed to scrape by with eating the nutrition bar you’d stuck in your pocket that morning. 

When your boss had told you that you were going to be the only one working today, you’d immediately known you’d be on your feet all day - most of your coworkers had caught a bit of the early-summer allergy-cold hybrid going around and others were attending their children’s various school-related activities. You honestly didn’t mind it at all - you were content to work alone, finding satisfaction in doing things yourself and working hard - but you had to admit that the thought of your bed was very tempting right then.

Casting a glance at the clock as you shoved the entire corner of your sandwich into your mouth, you wearily sighed through your nose. One more hour. You could make it one more hour, then you could close up and go home and take a nice, hot bath and curl up under your cool sheets and sleeeeep…

The chime admitting someone at the front door rang through the hall and you let out a groan, setting down your sandwich and rushing into the lobby. The first thing you saw was the tall black trench coat ducking his head so he wouldn’t hit the doorway. You smiled.

“Doctor Gaster!” you greeted warmly, as he drew up to his full height and guided the door closed. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He returned your warm expression with one of his own, his good eye socket crinkling in the corner. “I must return the sentiment. How have you been?”

“Fine, fine,” you replied with a laugh. “I’ve had a busy day today, but otherwise I’ve been well.”

Doctor Gaster, the former Royal Scientist working for King Asgore in the Underground, had dropped by the previous week and inquired to the specifications and requirements for owning a pet. You’d soon learned that he had absolutely no idea about pets - most things living in the Underground had been sentient, and the only things from the Surface were the humans that fell, so there were rarely any kinds of pets available.

The following conversation had been…awkward, at best (especially when talking about, ah…spaying and neutering [you didn’t even know why the skeleton monster had gotten uncomfortable - skeletons don’t even have junk, right?]), but he’d eventually gathered enough information to realize just how big of a responsibility any pet could be. He’d originally intended to get one to keep his sons company for the late nights where he’d have to work - being a physics professor took a surprising amount of time out of his personal life at times, but he ensured that he spend most days with his sons (due to events in the past, so he’d said; he always strove to spend as much time with them as possible. You hadn’t pried about what that meant, and he seemed a bit relieved because of that). 

After all the basics had been laid down, you had then started discussing the pros of cons of different types of pets. He quickly ruled out any small rodents, sweating a bit and clearing his throat frequently (which he really shouldn’t be able to do, but hey - he was a monster, and you’d given up trying to understand how they work a long time ago), whenever he’d said that any sort of small animal tended to disappear in their home. He’d implied that they had at least an animal of some sort living in or around their home that took care of any pests, but that only served to confuse you in the matter of him supposedly adopting their first pet, and he’d changed the subject.

Then had been discarded the idea of birds, being noisy and messy. He liked his home to be fairly quiet, at least, and he already got frustrated about the birds in the trees around their condominium singing and causing a racket at all odd times of the night. The dark lines beneath his eyes indicated as much. (You worried that he had some sort of sleeping disorder - he seemed to be an easily stressed person, and you could understand if he were to have insomnia. You suffered from it frequently, and you learned that you could usually tell if someone else was under that burden.)

Fish hadn’t been a very popular idea, either - he liked the looks of them, but he figured that the complexities that came with owning one (or several) might be too much for his boys to handle.

Reptiles were considered - he seemed to like them - but he’d admitted quite disappointedly that his youngest son wasn’t very fond of them. They’d once had a snake in the tree outside of the boy’s window and it had taken almost twenty minutes for Gaster to move the snake with his magic and calm his son from tears.

So then had only been left the two biggies - cats and dogs.

Gaster himself had confessed that he wasn’t very fond of dogs - he said that the village that they’d lived in while they were Underground was filled with dogs and all three of them were frequently tormented by them due to their, er, boney body structure. His eldest was fine with them, but there was a mysterious little dog that frequented their home and would steal bone from his youngest son’s room. (After your brief panic at the thought of having the actual parts of their skeleton structure being removed, he’d assured you that they were only left-over bone attacks - completely made of magic and not a part of their bodies.)

So the last option had opened itself up to conversation.

“Cats are generally very easy pets,” you’d explained, handing him the respective pamphlet containing basics and different sorts of breeds and their needs. “They’re pretty independent and take care of themselves most of the time. You feed them, water them, bathe them every once in a while, and they’ll be good to go. Depending on what breed you get, how you treat them, and what age they are, they can range from pretty indignant of your existence to seeing you as the light of their life. They can be really affectionate and loving, but sometimes you just have to give them their space.”

Gaster had hummed in contemplation, scanning the pamphlet’s text thoughtfully. He’d shortly looked back up to you. “At what age is it best for a cat to be adopted?”

“Well, if you’re worried about litter training, that’s already covered. We always train the younger kittens that when they arrive. But, generally, all ages are okay. I mean, sometimes the older ones can be a bit cranky, but other than that, they’re fine.”

He’d hummed again and stacked the pamphlets you’d given him before standing. You’d followed, and he’d smiled politely at you. “I must thank you for being patient with me. You have been the first person to give me the information I actually needed and not get agitated with my questions. I appreciate it very, very much.”

You’d smiled back and rubbed at your reddening cheek, letting out a flustered laugh. “You’re, ah, welcome. But the only reason I know as much as I do is because I basically spend all of my free time reading pet manuals, so…”

He’d chuckled softly and bowed slightly. “It is good to be learned in your occupation, so do not be so dismissive of it. But my thanks still stands. I will consider this further and consult with my sons. Have a good evening, milady.”

You had flushed even deeper than before as he’d turned and strode towards the front door.

“Have a good night, Doctor Gaster!” you’d called after him, and he’d smiled briefly over his shoulder before ducking underneath the front door and disappearing into the warm evening.

You had most certainly not forgotten about him - how could anyone? - and were exceedingly glad to see him again.

Gaster tipped his head respectfully and reached around his tall legs before urging two small boys from their chosen hiding place. Outfits of clashing blue and orange adorned both of them, the shorter of the two clutching at his father’s trousers and pressing against his leg, looking up at you with wide eye sockets. The taller one wearing a soft-looking blue jacket had his hands in his pockets and appeared much less shy than his counterpart, smiling coolly and looking about the lobby with his little eye lights. Or maybe his smile was just frozen due to him being a skeleton. You honestly didn’t know.

Gaster rested his hands gently on his son’s skulls and patted them gently. “These are my sons, milady. Sans-” He patted the taller one’s head- “-and Papyrus.” -before repeating with the smaller one. “I apologize - they can be quite shy, at times…” 

You laughed warmly, holding up a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Doctor Gaster. My nephew is just the same way.” You stepped over and kneeled before them, holding out a hand and telling them your name. “It’s nice to see you two - your father talked a lot about you.”

Sans eyed you for a long moment, seeming to assess you, before he extended an adorably tiny skeletal hand from his pocket and grasping as much of your fingers as he could manage before giving it a firm shake. Papyrus edged closer to his brother, pressing himself into his side, before reaching out with an even tinier hand and wrapped it around your first two fingers and bobbed them up on down.

You were just about to squeal from the absolute bubbly feeling that was spreading inside your chest, smiling so wide it was beginning to hurt, but upon glancing up and seeing Gaster’s gentle expression, you flushed and stood again, clearing your throat.

“Well,” you said, gesturing behind you. “Shall I show you to the cat room?”

Papyrus squealed and rushed forward, Sans following close behind him. You chuckled and looked to Gaster, who still had that oddly warm look directed towards you. It was making you flustered.

“Your boys are adorable,” you told him, leading him down the hall.

He let out a low rumble that you realized was a laugh. “You are the first to have thought that,” he told you quietly. “Humans tend to not open up to us, given our, ah…supernatural demeanor.”

You frowned at the darkened, almost bitter tone that voice dropped to. “I don’t see how anybody should be freaked out by you guys. You’re just…amazing.”

He startled, slowing to a stop as his eye socket widened and pupil shrank in evident surprise.

“And I’m not just talking about monsters in general,” you continued, oblivious to his expression, folding your arms and furrowing your brow. “I’m talking about you - skeleton monsters. You’re so similar to humans, yet completely different - if you were actual skeletons, you wouldn’t even be able to stand up, but your magic lets you talk and move and breathe and…you’re so alive, and you’re so neat because your personality is just so much deeper and interesting than some people I’ve known, not to mention that you’re just beautiful in the way you stand and talk and carry yourself and…”

Your voice dropped off as you realize two things. One: you’d actually said the inner thoughts that had been stirring around in your mind since you’d first met him (which you’d fully intended to keep to yourself), and two: Gaster was giving you such a reverent and touched look that it was flustering you very, very deeply.

“Uhhmm, well,” you blustered, adjusting your sleeves and avoiding his eye, “I just - I’ve always thought that - I just mean to say - I’m just…I’m going to stop talking now.”

Gaster chuckled softly, taking your hands in his and clasping them together, giving you an earnest look. “You are the first to have ever said anything like that,” he told you, repeating his earlier remark. “I…thank you, for your sincerity.”

You flushed, enraptured with his gentle smile. “It’s only true,” you said, no other words coming to mind.

He dipped his head a bit and the corner of his eye socket crinkled before he released your hands and gestured into the room where his sons had disappeared. “After you, milady.”

Trying very hard to ignore the flush that was making your hands jittery, you slipped past him and saw Sans holding Papyrus on his hip, peeking over the protective wall keeping all the felines from escaping their little play area.

“…oh, look, brother! That one has a scarred eye like Papa!”

“Yeah, I see it, bro.”

You smiled, the new task coming to mind causing your fluster to dissipate.

“Would you like to see them up close?” you asked, searching for your keys absentmindedly. Finding the ring on the lanyard around your neck, you tugged at the retractable chord and stepped towards the door in the display wall.

They were shy again, being in your presence, and it was only when Gaster encouraged them with a quiet word that they nodded in affirmation, their pupils beginning to shine as you unlocked the door. You held it open for them and Sans almost tripped over the ledge in his rush to get in there and you give Gaster a knowing grin before following.

“Have at it, boys,” you told them laughingly as some of the younger felines began to crowd around them in search for affection. “They’re all in need of some loving.”

Papyrus squealed in delight as Sans set him down, the smaller skeleton plopping down and petting each and every mewling head that rubbed against him. He seemed enraptured with the feel of their fur against his phalanges, his sockets wide in awe as he cooed and giggled. Sans was a bit more reserved but still very much interested, finding fascination in running his hands down their backs and rubbing behind their ears. You and Gaster leaned against the banister, watching the boys and smiling to yourselves. 

“I think they’re going to have trouble choosing,” you remarked lightly, chuckling as Papyrus’ face scrunched up as he felt the rough sandpaper-like texture of a kitten licking at his fingers. “There certainly are a lost to choose from, and they’re all good natured cats.” You turned your head to look at him. “Have any caught your eye?”

Gaster didn’t respond, his gaze caught in the far corner of the room, where most of the adult cats lazed about on various pieces of cat furniture.

Oh, he must be looking at the cat Papyrus had mentioned when you’d walked in.

Gaster’s entire being seemed focused on that one cat, his pupil dim but sparking periodically, as though he were thinking at rapid-fire pace. You figured if he’d been born with lips, he’d probably be biting his.

“Would you like to take a closer look, Doctor Gaster?” you asked, smiling softly and laying a hand to his arm.

He looked down at you, seeming as though you’d startled him from his thoughts, but flushed a faint lavender and nodded slowly.

You led him into the pen, stepping around the boys and sitting in one of the two arm chairs tucked into the corner, reaching over to pet the cat’s head. She opened her one good eye to stare at you, the chartreuse gleaming in the light.

Gaster stood stiffly before you, fiddling with his hands and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He seemed quite lost.

With an amused glint in your eye, you beckoned him over and gestured towards the other chair. He sat, shoulders rigid and hands fidgeting at his knees. Wow. You noticed for the first time how long just his thighs were.

“C’mere, Missy May,” you cooed, picking up the cat and standing, moving towards Gaster. He flustered, more purple invading his face as he tried frantically to wave you away, but you persisted with a grin and set the feline on his lap.

He froze, pupil shrinking and dimming, hands curling midair as she sniffed at his legs. She twitched an ear, flicked her tail and then plopped down upon his femurs.

Gaster stared. And stared. Looked to you, then back to the cat. Stared.

“I figured she’d like you,” you told him with a knowing grin.

He seemed as though he were about to speak, but didn’t. He hesitantly brushed a hand over her soft back and she twisted her head back and nibbled at his fingers. He seemed startled, but you reassured him, “She always does that. It’s just a way she shows acceptance. Trust me, it’s weird, but it’s just her.”

Gaster let out a little hum, face twisted in understanding. “Ah. Papyrus is oft the same.”

You raised a brow. “He bites?”

Gaster shrugged lightly. “He nips. And only when he’s cranky.”

You laughed and tried to stifle it with your hand. Daisy May stopped her judgement nips and lapped at Gaster’s phalanges, and when Gaster tried to pull his hand away she curled her paw around his wrist and stared straight up at him in silent challenge.

“Oh, yeah,” you chortled, “she really likes you.”

Gaster was quiet for a while, petting the cat and watching his sons roll in the waves of kittens seeking their affections.

“Do you know what happened to her eye?” he asked after a moment, studying the patches of exposed, puffed skin around the feline’s right eye.

You sighed sadly, looking at her with somber eyes. “Her owner had been using grease on a gas stove and it caught on fire. Fell off the stove, scorched her eye. He brought her here, insisting that he had been ‘irresponsible’ and ‘wasn’t suitable as a pet owner’, even though I remember the day he adopted her as a kitten here, years ago.” You fell into a contemplative silence, but for a few seconds. Then came to a conclusion. “He was a douchebag.”

“Papa! Papa!” Papyrus scuttled over, patting his father’s knees and bouncing on his toes. “Papa, did you find a kitty you like?”

Gaster gave him a smile. “Have you?”

“All the kitties are great!” Papyrus announced, but his demeanor drooped a bit and he fiddled with his fingers. Seemed as though he’d inherited it from his father. “But, I don’t feel like they’re…they…”

Gaster hummed softly and rested his hand atop his son’s skull, murmuring in a low voice. You could swear he was speaking another language, one that you’ve never heard before, but you couldn’t be sure due to his voice being so deep.

Papyrus seemed to understand, however, and perked up exponentially, his sockets brightening as he bounced on his feet. He seemed to catch sight of the cat in his father’s lap and set to petting her head gently. His hands were so, so tiny…

She didn’t nip at him, which surprised you. But Papyrus just had that special little spark that could make anybody love him upon his first word of greeting. You’d become quite enamored yourself.

Papyrus studied her studiously, his sockets narrowing. Then an epiphany seemed to strike him and he jabbed at the air with an exclamation of apparent victory. “Mufferaw!”

You blinked. Gaster chuckled.

“That is an excellent name, Papyrus,” he rumbled, patting his son on the head. “I think she will take to it well.”

Papyrus let out a noise of glee and pressed his teeth to the cat’s fuzzy and scarred head. “I love you, Mufferaw!”

Gaster seemed to notice your inherent confusion and explained, “Animals can be imprinted by monsters in specific way. Naming them, or simply touching them. I hypothesize that it is subconscious recognition of stronger magic - animals are also strongly composed of certain types of magic. But, in any case, you needn’t worry about her not responding to a new name.” He ran his hand over the cat’s back again and she curled up into a ball atop his legs. “She is quite aware of it, now that I’ve made it clear who she is to us.”

You stared in bewilderment, trying to process the slew of information he’d just thrown you. You decided to process it later, clearing your throat and standing.

“I’m guessing you’ve made your choice?” you inquired. Both skeletons nodded. “Great! I’ll go get the adoption paper-”

You almost tripped over yourself, having turned and taking a step right before realizing that Sans was sprawled out on the floor, still surrounded by kittens. He looked very much to be asleep, but it was hard to tell because it didn’t look like he was breathing.

Papyrus groaned. “Sans, you lazybones! You can’t go five minutes without taking a nap!”

You smothered a chuckle with your hand, stepping carefully over the young skeleton and slipping back into the hallway.

Letting out a puff of air, you entered the lobby and crouched behind the desk, shuffling through the shelves for the pre-stapled stacks of paper.

You hadn’t expected, five years ago, that this is where you’d be. Acquainted with magic skeleton monsters who were adopting a half-blinded cat. What had your life come to?

You found the papers necessary and grabbed a pen, casting a look towards the clock (Fifteen minutes till closing. It would be a squeeze, getting this done in time. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stretch the schedule, if necessary.) before striding back down the hall.

But as you stepped back into the pen and saw Sans leaning against his father’s legs with a drowsy look on his face, Papyrus still attentively petting Daisy M-Mufferaw, and Gaster sitting there with such a contented expression you decided that you quite liked this turn of events in your otherwise ordinary life.


	6. (Non-AU) Tols vs. Smols (Gaster/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I'm here two days late for Undertale's first birthday, but better late then never, right? Please accept this humble token of my appreciation for this lovely game and even lovelier fandom and love the tol Goopdad. And to Toby Fox, thank you - you've changed me in ways you'll never know.  
> It took me a while to finish this (what is it with me and always writing super long Gaster chapters???), and I don't think I'm completely content with it, but it's finished. I might edit it and add more later, but that's unlikely. Hope you enjoy!  
> (And to all the fellow smols out there, this is for you. *thumps chest and holds out peace sign* May we all find comfortable pairs of heels and never have to reach something on the top shelf at Wal*Mart.)  
> "-Smol always likes to compare height and hand sizes to Tol and always stands on their tiptoes so they can be taller but then Tol just ends up lifting Smol into the air  
> -Smol sometimes gets mistaken for a young child and gets all defensive so Tol has to calm them down"  
> (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/427842033333617859/)  
> //  
> "whatever you do don't imagine the taller half of your otp scooping the shorter one up around their middle and swinging them around to make them laugh just don't do it"  
> (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/219198706842513813/)

Okay, this was just ridiculous.

Sure, most of your life you were oft mistaken to be younger than you actually were due to your…less than average stature. Your parents were of average height, but your ancestors weren’t exactly six-foot, booming, buff people capable of reaching the top freaking shelf in a supermarket. You’d just been blessed to have sound health and strong intelligence (and no, mom, you don’t have OCD just because you have to rearrange the books in your bookshelves every six months, not at all), but it was always a source of insecurity for you when people would tease you about your lackluster height. Some would try to intimidate you with their greater size, but you never backed away. For what you lacked in legs, you made up for in spirit.

Since the monsters came out of Mount Ebott and integrated into the city, a lot of the tallest humans you’d met were quickly outmatched by the sometimes six to eight foot tall monsters roaming around, looking for jobs and places to live and opening businesses. Some were “normal height”, closer to the human range, others were very little, but all were friendlier than any human you’d ever met.

But, despite all the teasing you received over the years, all the jibs and jokes, you’d never felt truly small until you met Wingdings Gaster.

Your job at a small used bookstore afforded a normal pay - certainly more than minimum wage, for which you were thankful - and you sometimes took up other part-time jobs for a little extra. But nothing was better than getting a cup of coffee or tea in the mornings and roaming and restocking the shelves, surrounded by the smell of old leather and dried pages. Missus Robin, the owner, was always so kind to you - never forced another shift upon you unless you asked for it, always gave you a solid thirty minute lunch break, and would reward you with slices of whatever cake she had baked the previous night. You loved her to pieces - she was very motherly and you had never felt uncomfortable with her. There were never any true disagreements (besides those rare occurrences when she would scold you for staying up late the previous night or forgetting to eat breakfast), and you worked harder for her than anyone else you’d ever been employed under. She was a blessing.

The store got a normal amount of visitors every day, never a swarm to be seen, and your somewhat antisocial self reveled in it. You always had plenty of time to peruse what few sections you hadn’t explored, but whenever you attempted to purchase a book of your own Missus Robin would always just give it to you, despite your insistence on paying for it. You had no doubt that her frequently mentioned grandchildren were spoiled well and rotten.

Most of the time it would either be college students looking for a certain biography of some obscure historical figure or middle-aged women looking for a romance book they had yet to read - even the occasional young mom with her kids would show up and find storybooks. But after a while the occasional monster would wander in, browsing the rich selection of human literature and usually coming away with quite a few. They were always so polite and patient, even when the register when on the fritz for the sixteenth freaking time that month, and you always perked up a bit when one would enter the store.

One rainy Monday evening, you were beyond tired, restocking the astronomy section with new donated books - the spring semester was over, and there had been a hefty senior graduation that year, so there were a lot of used textbooks and others of such ilk being dropped off at rapid-fire pace. It was close to closing time and it had been a good day, the thought of going home and curling up on the couch with another Netflix binge sounding better and better as the minutes ticked by.

The gentle ring of the bell attached to the door and a heavy step of someone entering quickly caught your attention. “Welcome to Robin’s Nest Books!” you called, standing and dusting off your legs before poking your head around the bookshelf.

A seven foot skeleton monster stood near the door, his clothes flattened against his thin form and water dripping from his skull. He was shivering.

“Oh, yes, ah…” He tugged at the scarf knotted around his neck, loosening the wet fabric from his vertebrae. “Hello.”

You blinked, a bit surprised. You’d never seen this monster before, let alone any monsters of similar build. But the novelty was appreciated.

“You must be cold,” you said, gesturing at him with a hand and a sympathetically furrowed brow. “I’ll get you something to drink. Tea or coffee?”

“A-ah, tea, please.” He hesitated, but when you gestured him forward he followed you to the break room. Who were you to leave him standing alone in the foyer?

You made quick work of setting up the Keurig sitting on the counter next to the microwave. “Do you mind green tea? We’re out of everything else - I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” he said, lingering in the doorway. “Green tea is fine. More than fine.”

You eyed him as the machine began to puff and sputter, the tea beginning to trickle into the cup. “You don’t have to stand there,” you told him, “go ahead and sit down. We don’t mind.”

He looked as though he were about to protest, but hesitated and haltingly pulled out a chair from the table and eased into it.

Contented for the moment, you turned back to the various sweeteners and additives arranged on a small rack beside the Keurig. “Any cream or sugar? Honey?”

“Honey, please.”

You handed him the plastic bear filled with glistening golden liquid along with the mug of piping tea. He murmured his thanks and took an experimental sip. (You watched in mild befuddlement. He didn’t open his mouth to drink it. Was he just letting it trickle through his teeth?)

Something seemed to catch his eye because the bone above his eye furrowed and he eyed the mug before letting out a snort of laughter, looking up at you with an amused smile. Oh. You’d forgotten that you’d brought a mug from home that morning. It was the one that said, “Introverts unite. We’re here, we’re uncomfortable, and we want to go home.”

Whoops.

As he set about squeezing a good glob of honey into the tea you cleared your throat, embarrassed and trying to ignore the warmth in your cheeks.

“So…” You played with the neck of your shirt. “Got stuck in the rain?”

“I was on my way home and it started quite suddenly,” he told you, a smile still playing at his mouth. “By the time a found somewhere to get out of the rain, I was already quite, ah…my clothes did not survive unscathed.”

You chuckled and went over to one of the cabinets, opening it and pulling out a small dish towel. “Do you want to dry off a bit? I can hang your coat in here.”

“Yes, that would…that would be very kind of you, thank you!” He still seemed very unsure of your hospitality - surprised, even. Were other humans treating monsters so badly that they can’t even expect politeness anymore?

He shrugged out of his coat, the thick, saturated material heavy in your arms as you lugged it over to the wall where Missus Robin’s bulletin board was. You hung it on one of the pegs beside it and turned back to find him watching you with unwavering attentiveness.

You hesitated. “Did…did I do something wrong?”

He startled out of his concentration and flushed a noticeable lavender.

“Ah, no, I…” He made a noise as though he were clearing his throat (you didn’t even bother to question it) and tugged at stiff shirt collar at his clavicle. “You are, shall I say…no, I’m being terribly impolite, I apologize.”

You raised a brow. “I’m what?”

He cleared his throat again and he avoided your questioning gaze. “You are…er, small, for a human, aren’t you?”

You blinked.

“Th-that isn’t to say that you are in any way lesser in my eyes!” he stammered, his hands fluttering anxiously. “I just - most humans I have encountered are usually of a larger stature, and honestly I mistook you for a child when I first saw you because you’re wearing stripes - and, er, ah…” He was an impressive shade of lilac by then. “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”

You stared for a good, long moment before chortling good-naturedly, the genuine curiosity having been in his eyes a good change than the usual teasing that you received. “It’s quite all right. I know I’m shorter than a good majority, and I’m usually picked on because of it. It’s a nice change.” You moved over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite of him. “Both sides of my family don’t really have any tall genetic backgrounds, and my immediate family were all about average or shorter. It’s not really a surprise that I’m this way - but, hey!” You smiled, splaying out your hands. “At least I’m travel sized.”

Gaster relaxed, seemingly relieved that he had not offended you, and smiled a bit. “My eldest son is also of smaller proportions, unlike my youngest, who is closer to my own height. I do not really know how that came about, to be honest.”

You shrugged lightly. “Could be genetics, or maybe some sort of nutrition deficiency while he was young. Some people can’t really tell.” Tilting your head, you set your chin in your palm. “You have two sons?”

He nodded, giving a pleased hum and a gentle, bubbly grin. “Sans and Papyrus. They work as a physics professor and a professional chef in training, respectively. I am very proud of them.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Would you care to tell me more about them?”

Gaster positively beamed, his pupil lighting up with a warm glow as he began to gush about his sons and their accomplishments and personalities while you listened in polite silence, nodding attentively. It was nice, to hear him speak so fondly of his children - it was something you wished you could have.

The conversation lengthened from there, questions ranging from current occupations to the latest play showing at the downtown outdoor theatre in a few days, and by the time it wound down, Gaster’s clothes were merely damp and his tea was long gone. When you’d poked your head out of the room to look through the window in the front door, the rain was only a light drizzle.

You’d offered to drive him home of course, your shift ending literally five minutes after you’d checked the weather (Where had the time gone? Had you really talked with him that long?), but he’d given you a strange little smile and told you he would be fine - he “knew a shortcut”.

He’d slipped into his coat, bid you a fine evening, and slipped out of the bookstore. You’d watched him walk down the street and disappear around a corner. You’d hoped he didn’t get caught in the weather again - as you clocked out and locked up the store, the rain came back in a flurry of lightning and wind - you barely made it to your car before you got soaked completely.

Days passed, and life went on as normal - until you had an unexpected visitor at work.

Like when you’d met Gaster, it was near closing time - you were even locking up the register just as the door opened with a jangle. You looked up to see a small skeleton standing there, blue jacket unzipped to show his “i’m punny” t-shirt and…pink house slippers…?

“Um…” You hesitated. He was staring straight at you. “Can I help you?”

His little eye-lights scanned you up and down, seeming to think a long moment before he smirked. “So you’re the human Dad talked about.”

You blinked, but after a moment you remembered. Of course - this must be one of Gaster’s sons.

You gave him a polite smile. “I guess I am,” you said, attempting to tame the strand of hair that had slipped from behind your ear. It resisted quite admirably and you tried puffing it out of your face. “Is there, er, anything I can do for you?”

The smaller skeleton shrugged a shoulder, his eye sockets closing briefly. Okay, apparently skeleton monsters were way more malleable than actual human skeletons. Maybe it was their magic.

“All I can ask is for you to listen,” he remarked. “Thank you.”

You raised a brow, eyes scrunching a bit in confusion. He seemed to notice.

“Dad has a tendency to overwork himself,” he explained, “and he had already worked four hours overtime by the time he left. He said he’d expected to be kicked out of here when it started to rain, but you actually made sure he was all right.” His eye-lights glowed with something warm. “He usually comes home drawn up in a knot because he couldn’t finish his project or something, but he came home that night more relaxed than I had ever seen him. Whatever you said or did really made a difference. He’s been more careful about his hours and how much he spends away from home. It’s really nice that he’s actually eating three consistent meals a day, too. So…whatever you did, I thank you.”

Blinking and feeling a startled flush seep into your cheeks, you tried to ignore the initial concern that tugged at your stomach. Gaster had seemed a bit stressed when he’d come in, but you hadn’t realized that you’d made such an impact - it came as a complete surprise that you of all people did that.

“Is he all right?” you asked.

“He’s fine,” the skeleton assured. “Overslept five hours today - Pap was furious. I was proud.”

If “Pap” was Papyrus, than this guy must be Sans. You smiled, a little uncertain. “Well, I’m glad that he’s taking care of himself. I would hate for him to overexert himself.”

Sans studied you for a long moment before chuckling a little to himself, muttering something about “Soul’s a good one” before he gave you a mock salute. “I’ll be seein’ you around, kiddo,” he said with a secretive smile, before disappearing with a flash of blue.

You blinked and tried to absorb all that had just happened, but decided to stew on it later. You had to close up shop and drop by the store for a few groceries. (You still pretty much failed to comprehend all that had been shoved into your face, even after taking a nice shower and curling up in your sheets while watching the latest updates of your favorite shows.)

But you did hope you would see Gaster again - you wanted to learn more about him.

 

Needless to say, you learned a lot more about Gaster than you originally bargained for, as time went on. He began to drop by the bookstore after work and would inquire about your day and how you were fairing. He was always such a gentleman, even offering to walk you home on some evenings when you had elected to walk to work instead of driving that morning.

Eventually, he asked you to lunch on a Sunday (Missus Robin always insisted that Sunday was the Lord’s day and it was a day of rest, and you never pushed her. A day off is a day off.) and you agreed. He took you to a small diner on the corner, one where you’d dined many times before, and it was far more pleasant than him calling through the bookshelves to ask about your wellbeing. (Skeleton monsters can open their mouths and conjure tongues, apparently. He said the tongues help them eat. You were taken aback by the fluorescent purple, though.)

After that, it almost became a habit. He would visit a couple of times a week, then take you to lunch on Sunday and tell you about his sons’ latest escapades and how work was treating him. He was currently working on a research project for a magic-powered generator for the monster district near the edge of downtown. You told him that you had yet to visit, and he immediately brightened at the prospect of showing you around his neighborhood.

When he did, it was far more pleasant than you’d expected it to be - generally, humans treated monsters very badly, but the monsters you and Gaster bumped into on the street still greeted you with enthusiasm and friendly smiles. You learned that they all knew their ambassador personally and held high hopes that other humans would eventually warm up to them. You soon found that you hoped the same - all of them were just such good people, and you could hardly believe that anyone could muster up the gall to treat any of them like they were lesser.

But as the evening grew and the surprisingly bustling nightlife in the monster district began to swell, Gaster invited you to visit his home before returning you to yours. You politely declined, as your legs and feet were already sore (plus the goods you’d bought from several small shops lined up between ‘Grillby’s’ and the ‘Librarby’ were heavy and made your shoulders ache [Gaster had offered to carry them, but you’d refused]), and so he gave you a fond little smile before walking you back home. He told you where he lived as opposed to where you’d visited and said you were always welcome to visit if the opportunity ever arose. You thanked him and he kissed your knuckles (Well, Eskimo kisses count, right?) before winking and disappearing with a flare of purple the same color of his tongue. (It had taken a good fifteen minutes for the blush to fade from your face, long after you’d slid down the door and curled up in a tight ball of flustered mess.)

After that, he always seemed to look at you with a certain warmth glowing from his eye-light. You could swear it flashed that same purple whenever he made you laugh or smile. But, for the most part, your friendship remained the same. You figured out pretty quickly that you might want more from him than what he’d already given you - and that you wanted to give him more of you, as well. So you broached the topic at the end of one of your Sunday meals.

Of course, he’d been extremely startled. Never had he thought that you would desire anything from him, and he admitted quite blushingly that he agreed with the feelings in your offer. And so, you and Wingdings Gaster became “official”.

Everything was amazing, as well - your personalities balanced each other’s very well, you made up for each other’s faults and weaknesses and improved your strengths, and the love was very strong between your Souls. But as with all relationships, there has to be a drawback, always.

Yours and Gaster’s? The ridiculous difference in your heights. Gaster was a whopping seven footer, his legs reaching your stomach - the top of your head only met the bottom of his sternum.

Yes. You were short. And some times it was very, very tedious.

“Would you like a kid’s menu, sir?”

Times like this, for freaking example.

Gaster’s hand fluttered a bit as he watched the redness flood into your face, practically feeling the heat bubbling up in your stomach.

“Ah, no - an adult menu, please.” He smiled nervously as the young man at the receptionist’s counter raised an incredulous brow before shrugging and gesturing to the right wing of the restaurant. “Right this way, please.”

The human led you over to a booth by a window, the sun warm and the table spotless. He set down the menus and Gaster slipped primly into the seat and tried to ignore how his knees were bumping up against the underside of the table. You, on the other hand…

You hated booths. You honestly did. Yes, you preferred to sit to the side of any given room, but the seats the restaurant designers picked out always - always - possessed the kind of cushioning that allowed no support to crawl on (basically the same way one tries to run on sand - it does not work).

And you, with your infuriatingly short legs, always ended up making an absolute ass of yourself trying to clamber into your seat.

Both Gaster and the waiter watched as you huffed and pulled yourself bodily onto the seat and shifted around until you puffed out an exasperated sigh and gave the waiter a hard stare. He immediately looked down to the notepad in his hand.

“Anything you would like to drink?”

Gaster requested his usual - orange iced sweet tea - and you grumbled out yours before the waiter nodded with a simple, “It’ll be right out.”

Gaster began to set up his napkin and cutlery as he always did - setting the silky material as a diamond shape and lining up the silverware beside it with pristine immaculacy. You watched his nimble phalanges, the metacarpals shifting and contorting despite the baseball-sized holes cut through them. He must’ve noticed your irritation still simmering just beneath the surface, because he sighed softly with a tender smile, reaching across the table and taking your comparatively tiny hand in his. (Yours could just about fit through the holes, but he probably would never let you try due to them being painfully sensitive - he didn’t have skin, but scars hurt just the same as yours did.)

“Don’t take it to heart, love,” he told you gently, rubbing his thumb along your palm just so. “He was probably a Physical Education’s major.”

You chuckled humorlessly at his jab to amuse you, your eyes dropping to your clasped hands.

Gaster was gorgeous, for a skeleton. Had he been born human, he would’ve been a source of heartbreak for girls far and wide, if even his bone structure was anything to go by. He would’ve made a nice basketball player. He was tall, skinny (not counting the lack of actual flesh), and always had to duck in doorways to avoid hitting his skull. You were short, and he could probably tote you around in his mandatory black trench coat without anybody being the wiser. You loved him, and you loved your relationship, but sometimes you hated the odd looks that humans would give you in passing.

It didn’t help that you were often mistaken for a child anyways.

Gaster squeezed your hand and laced your fingers together. His hand nearly engulfed yours, but you honestly didn’t mind it much. His bones were smooth and cool, and the small circles he was pressing into the flesh between your thumb and forefinger was firm.

“Let’s go to the movie theater today,” he said, smiling. “You’ve mentioned that you’ve wanted to see that one with…” The bone above his good eye furrowed and he paused, before rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. “Ah, I know his name…”

You smirked a little despite yourself, suggesting the poor actor’s name.

Gaster snapped his fingers, his eye-light brightening. “That’s it!” He sighed and chuckled, shaking his head. “I apologize. Human names are oft confusing to me. So similar at times…”

“What about mine?” you inquired teasingly.

He flushed a pretty lavender, his hand jerking in a half-formed motion. “No, no - not at all! But, you…you must admit that some names are confusing!”

You laughed at his flustered tone, nodding in submission. But when you looked back to his now satisfied expression, you realized just what he’d been trying to do.

He patted your hand lightly and smiled. “You are reverent when you smile, dearest.”

You flushed and turned your head in an attempt to hide it, just as the waiter stepped up to your table and set down your drinks. He looked you dead in the eye, possessing the gall to look all patiently compassionate before asking, “Do you need a straw, miss?”

Okay, the fury was back.

“I’m not a child,” you gritted out between your teeth. Gaster winced as your fingers subconsciously coiled into his, your nails digging into the bone of his metacarpals. 

The twenty-something didn’t look phased, shrugging his skinny-ass shoulder before pulling two straws out of his black apron (there were white cat hairs on it, you observed) and setting them down on the table. He looked to Gaster and got his damned little silver pen from his shirt pocket and cocked his hip. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

Gaster was almost sweating, glancing nervously between you and your waiter, but he managed to place your order and waited until the male human disappeared around the corner before slowly prying your fingernails from between his phalanges.

 

“He should be working minimum wage,” you growled as you stepped out onto the sidewalk. Gaster held the door open for an elderly couple who smiled and thanked him with jovial bobs of their hoary heads. You folded your arms tightly over your chest as Gaster then began to lead you the opposite direction, deeper downtown. “I still don’t think you should’ve tipped him that much.”

“It was one dollar and fifty-seven scents, dearest.”

“He was an asshat.”

The skeleton monster sighed softly and turned fully to you, taking both your hands and holding them close to his chest.

“Does it bother you?” he asked softly.

You blinked, suddenly lost. “Does what bother me?”

He glanced away towards the street corner where a group of college kids were crossing over and belting out quite the impressive rendition of the Bohemian Rhapsody. “My size. Do I intimidate you, or make you uncomfortable in any way?”

Your brows furrowed in bewilderment. “Of…course not, why would it? It’s never bothered me, Gaster.”

He sighed deeply and looked back to you, his eye-light dimmed slightly. “I am a seven foot tall skeleton monster - with quite the frightening countenance to some, might I add - but I do not let the impressions of others hinder my happiness. At least, I attempt to.” He paused, then tipped his head downwards, closer to you. You caught sight of the faint purple glow in his eye. “I am not implying that you should not be offended by some who completely disregard you, as that employee did - but you should not let his demeanor keep you from taking pride in your body.”

You dropped your gaze uncomfortably. (Oh, look. There was a dime wedged into a crack in the sidewalk.) “Take pride in what? Every other person I meet thinks I’m a freaking fourteen year-old, and they always get this really surprised look on my face when I actually start talking and stuff, like, ‘Oh! You’re not actually what your height implies you to be? Well, piddle me a diddly damn riddle, I never would have guessed!’” You laughed bitterly, anger bubbling up in your chest. “It’s not like I tried to stop growing as soon as I hit thirteen! I would’ve very much liked to get a few more inches to at least make it so I don’t have to wear heels if I ever want to step outside my freakin’ doorstep!”

Gaster - bless him, really - only gazed down at you patiently, waiting. You fell silent, yet he still waited a good few moments before speaking gently.

“May I speak?” he asked.

You grumbled out an agitated “Sure.”

He tucked your joined hands against his sternum and leaned down until his forehead rested on the crown of your skull. “If you were taller, would I be able to do this?”

That definitely caught you off guard, and you fumbled for an answer for an embarrassing moment. “Er…yeah? It’d probably be easier on your neck.”

He stooped down to his knees, tucking his arms loosely around your waist and resting his temple on your chest. “Would I be able to do this?”

“…Not really…?”

His hands found your cranium and he tilted his head up, gazing up into your eyes as he cradled your head. “What about this?”

“Um…” You could feel an embarrassed flush beginning to seep into your cheeks. You were literally on the sidewalk in the middle of the monster district and he was doing…this. He never usually doted on you this much - he was generally very light with the whole PDA thing. He always saved that for when you were in the privacy of your apartment or his house. “No…? Gaster what are you…”

The skeleton monster stood suddenly, tucking his arms behind your back and legs right before swinging you into the air as you squeaked in surprise. “Gaster!”

“You’re travel-sized,” he grinned, tucking you into his chest. Oh, god, no, this was embarrassing…

“Gaster, please put me down,” you said, clutching at his turtleneck. He laughed heartily and pressed his nasal bone to yours. He was always fond of those Eskimo kisses.

“I love you as you are,” he told you firmly, with no lack of the warmest smile you’d ever seen on him, “and I would never, ever ask for you to be any different. You are wonderful, and beautiful, and - most importantly - you are you.”

Shit, your eyes were beginning to sting.

“Gaster…” You punched him weakly in the sternum, scrubbing at your eyes. “You’re such a ball of mush.”

He chuckled and nuzzled into your neck. “Small humans fascinate me. And, besides - your Souls are usually more compact, and therefore more powerful. You have no need to fear.”

“Are you a midget chaser?” you asked.

He huffed out a laugh into your clavicle and you tried to ignore how his cool breath tickled your skin. (Why skeletons needed breath was beyond you - Gaster told you it more of a habit than anything else, but he’d never gone into detail.) “Nothing of the sort, dear-heart. You are just…special. And I love you.”

“…I love you, too, Gaster,” you managed, thankful that he couldn’t see the redness in your cheeks.

“Good. Because as an irrevocably tall monster,” he said, setting you down on your feet and kneeling down with his back turned towards you, “I love to give piggyback rides.”

Delight flared, but you hesitated. “Won’t I hurt you?”

He shook his head vigorously with the widest, possibly dorkiest grin you’d ever seen in your life and gestured at you. You tentatively let him take each of your legs as you propped yourself up on his wide shoulders before he slowly straightened. The entire perspective of the street changed, and you couldn’t help the absolutely giddy feeling that bubbled up in your chest as you looked about.

“Shall we?” Gaster asked, squeezing the undersides of your knees.

You grinned and pressed a kiss to his skull. “We shall.”


	7. (Non-AU) Heartbeat (Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't updated in a while, so I threw this together. It's a bit short, but it's all I could eek out of my stubborn gray matter.  
> (Just a reminder - I am open to requests! Hit me, I dare you! Just no NSFW, pls. Those'll be ignored.)  
> There isn't a real prompt, either - I was going to do a November daily writing challenge but I don't think I'll be able to catch up. But the first day's was this one ("Heartbeat").

It was a comfort to Sans, to know you were alive.

But it wasn’t due to any sort of post-traumatic violent experience or existential fear or anything - just being able to see and feel you living and breathing despite everything the world threw at you was a source of marvel and wonderment to him.

Your skin constantly reconstructing itself, for one thing: since you worked with paper sometimes, you tended to get papercuts and nicks and scratches almost constantly. He would hear you curse softly before sighing and going to run it under hot water and, if it was needed, fetch the small first aid tray you kept handy in the bathroom cabinet. It would generally be a thin stripe of red marring your thin flesh before a thicker scab would form. It would gradually shrink and darken and dry out until it would fall off, leaving behind a paler replacement of the malleable armor covering your body. Sans found fascination in that aspect of your anatomy, often gently probing wounds either just inflicted or healed. Self repair took much longer for skeletons naturally - they were just bones, after all, and it seemed to take forever for a fracture or a break to heal. Just based on the few occasions in which Sans himself had injured himself, he was grateful that Papyrus was as adept in healing magic as he was.

Your hair, on the other hand, was something else. The thick strands of proteins that hung from your scalp and served to stress you even on the best of days really served no purpose, biologically - perhaps it served to protect your head from the sun, or maybe it was just for visual diversity. Either way, it was oddly pleasant to his eye, and he loved to run his phalanges through it in lieu of ridding it of potentially painful tangles. He had initially noticed that it tended to relax you, and made it his mission to cradle your head in his lap to card his fingers through your hair whenever possible. He didn’t particularly like the fact that it got stuck to the furniture or on all of the clothes, but he took the good with the bad in spite of it. He had trouble with the concept of cutting it, however - the first time he’d even heard of a haircut had been when you’d passed by a mirror, frowned at your reflection, and had mumbled something about getting it trimmed. His reaction, admittedly, had probably been at least a little amusing, at least to you. (“…You mean to tell me that stuff _grows_?”)

There were many more things about your body that he was often baffled by (discovering that it didn’t actually hurt to clip your fingernails had been a revelation to him), but he figured the thing he loved most was your heartbeat.

You were warm, incessantly so, and he loved curling into you in search of it whenever he would wake up in the middle of the night further away from you or when you would turn away from him in your sleep. But there would be times, on those very rare occasions, when he would find himself laying atop your sturdy form, head on your chest and arms wrapped under your back as the both of you would watch television or get ready to sleep for the night. Your arms would eventually wrap around him and you would rest your face against his cranium before lulling into unconsciousness. But something he had discovered upon resting the side of his face against your thinly flesh-veiled sternum had been the dull buh-dump, buh-dump thumping against the inside of your chest cavity. Your heartbeat would slow as you would fall into a deeper slumber, or speed up when you were waking or having a dream.

After that, Sans endeavored to feel or hear it when possible, pressing his fingertips to the inside of your wrist, or pressing his palms against the sides of your neck, or flattening his hand against the middle of your chest. He would even sometimes feel it in your fingers if he squeezed them hard enough.

Out of all the things that anchored him to the fact that you were real and living, that ever-present pulse always reassured him that you were there - you were there, with him, and you weren’t going anywhere.

He was pretty sure you were aware of his odd affinity with your body, but you never commented upon it, even when he would curl around you and murmur in your ear to feel your pulse quicken under his hands. He would oft feel you smile and press his hands more firmly into your flesh.

It was a comfort to Sans, to know you were alive. And he was certain that you knew that.


	8. (Non-AU) "Don't Cry. I'm Sure Someone Really Cares About You." (Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all. I am back but definitely not better than ever. Apologies for this one being fairly short, but I wanted to finish it instead of letting it sit and gather dust, so. Yeah. (I try to be funny with these but I'm not sure if they are actually. But I try. )  
> Just a reminder: I am open to requests (that aren't NSFW), and if you have one feel free to drop it off. I will certainly attempt by best at it!
> 
> "We live in adjacent apartments and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall" AU  
> (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/Ae_67xNpRm3n4F2uZSfbm7lNS7Y-8g3Kt6ciQxAKn1_BZjd6A1zk3NY/)

Today had been shit.

It seemed as though the entire world had been out to make you feel like the worst human being that had ever been conceived, from the sour clientele at your job seeming to deem it the day to come up with the worst complaints, to your “friends” ganging up on you to pay for their bar tabs again and subsequently ditching you when you failed to procure the ridiculously hefty sum.

So, yeah. You were not in a good mood, and you planned on shutting yourself in away from the world for the entire weekend. Yay for the significant lack of competent and decent people in your life!

Upon shutting your door sharply and dropping your coat, purse, and keys on the floor to (not) tend to later, you immediately trudged towards your bedroom. You were entirely prepared to change into your pajamas and curl up into your sheets for an evening Netflix marathon - forget about your basic adult responsibilities! You’d had the worst day possible and you were going to treat yourself.

Soon enough, you were comfortably cocooned in your sheets and blankets, your face and hands bulging out of the somewhat round formation of cloth as you clicked through Netflix for a new binge. It was proving unfruitful, however, and you huffed out in annoyance before clicking on an old episode of something you’d already watched.

For the first ten minutes, it went unimpeded - you could feel yourself relaxing and you praised the repairman for fixing your heater system. It was cold outside and you were glad that your apartment was back to being cozy. What was his name again? Derrick? Dean? You’d have to make him cookies or something in gratitude. He’d seemed like a peanut butter kind of guy…

A muffled noise that was most definitely not the television caught your attention and you froze, listening intently. A good few moments passed and you passed it off as the ventilation creaking.

Had the plot to this episode always been so predictable? It was so obvious now that you knew what was going to happen…

Another sound caught your attention and you huffed out a breath, turning down the volume on your TV and unraveling the warm flannel from your head, leaning towards the wall behind you.

You felt your body chill when you realized there was someone sobbing on the other side of the wall.

Oh, geez, the poor guy. He sounded really upset. Was your fourteenth rerun of the pilot episode that offensive?

Well, you felt guilty now. No point in trying to focus on the television.

You flipped it off and contemplated going to fix yourself some ice cream, but something was nagging at you. He must’ve had a real shitty day, too, for him to be crying that fiercely. Maybe…

…Maybe you could offer a few words of comfort?

You knocked lightly on the dry wall and you heard the sounds cease abruptly. “Hey, buddy. You, uh…you all right?”

You could hear a bed frame creak and a dulled sniffle. “I think I’d be lying if I said yes, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m all right.”

Okay, no, he was definitely not cool. His voice was hoarse and deep, probably deeper than it normally would be. Scratchy, too, but that honestly wasn’t a surprise given how badly he’d been sucking in breaths moments before.

“…Do you want to talk about it…?” you ventured tentatively, leaning against your headboard.

“…Not really.”

“Okay.”

Quite the stunted silence followed and you chewed at your lip.

“I had a bad day, too.”

“Don’t think it was near as bad as mine, kiddo.”

“…Is there something I can do?”

The words surprised you, even as they bounced from your mouth. You didn’t even know who was on the other side, and you were offering to do…basically anything for a stranger. What if he…

“…You got stuff to make a quiche?”

…asked you for help in making a quiche?

“Uh…” You scratched at your scalp perplexedly. “I’ve never made a quiche. What does it need?”

He rattled off the ingredients easily, and you tried to remember the last time you went grocery shopping.

“Uhh…I think I’ve got most of what you need. Maybe not the spinach, though.” Why would someone put spinach in a quiche?

“I’ve got that. It’s been a while since I’ve gone shopping. I have to do it because my bro just gets tomatoes and spaghetti noodles most of the time.”

“Is he an Italian fanatic?”

“You could say that. The Captain of the Royal Guard used to give him lessons, but the queen’s taken over. It’s actually edible now.”

Captain…of the Royal Guard? What Royal Guard? And what queen?

Wait, wait…if this guy was referring to…no way. Was this guy…

“Are you a monster?”

There was a brief silence, and when he spoke again you hear hardness in his voice.

“Yeah. What of it?”

Oh, no, you didn’t mean to do that, oh dear…

“That’s awesome, actually. You seem really cool.”

There was another silence, though much longer this time, and you might’ve thought he’d left if not for the fact that his bed hadn’t creaked to indicate he’d moved.

“So, uh…do you want me to bring the stuff over or do you want to come over here…?”

“…It doesn’t bother you that I’m a monster?”

He sounded stupefied.

“Um…no? Why would it?”

“Just…humans usually get weirded out whenever they realize I’m a monster. Especially the pizza delivery guys.”

You supposed that was an attempt at humor, but he didn’t sound very amused himself.

“That’s their loss. I was a little surprised, but I’m not bothered by it. Now what’s the plan, chief?”

It might’ve been the ventilation, but then again, you were pretty sure he had chuckled.

“Let me grab the spinach. I’ll be over in two.”

“Okay.”

You didn’t hear his bed creak, but your ears popped for some reason before you padded back into the front room. You gathered the ingredients from your meager fridge, setting them out on the kitchenette counter when two moderate and swift knocks rapped on the outside of your door. It doesn’t take but a moment to walk over, unlock, and open the door.

You really didn’t know what you had expected - but it was definitely anything but this.

“Uh, heya.”

“…Hi.”

“Can I, uh…can I come in?”

“Sure - yes, of course! Come on in.”

He was…short. And his sweater had ketchup stains on it.

Scandalous.

“I guess we’re setting up shop?”

“Yeah.” You shift to the kitchenette island and watch him rip open and dump the bag of spinach on the counter, sorting through your own ingredients and ducking down to peer into your cabinetry. “You’ll, uh, have to show me how to do this.”

“It’s not hard,” he said, “but it can be tricky.”

Tricky it was indeed, but it turned out all right in the end.

You both decided that maybe it would be best not to eat the rest of it, though.


End file.
